


Dodging the Question

by Deisderium



Series: Stucky Bingo 2019 Fills [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Head Injury, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Modern Steve Rogers, Sportsball Rivals to Lovers, Steve Rogers is Competitive, Stucky Bingo 2019, The Rules of Dodgeball Are Not Well Known to the Author but I Tried, dodgeball - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21987574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium
Summary: Steve Rogers knows that he's in a recreational league, intellectually. Emotionally, he wants to completely destroy the other team. It's stupid, and when he's not actually in the middle of the game, he can admit that to himself and to others. But while he's playing, all he can focus on is completely ruining his opponents.This is true no matter what game he's playing. It's true during basketball season, it's true in singles tennis, and it is certainly fucking true when it's time for summer dodgeball.*In which Steve and Bucky are rival captains of dodgeball teams, and can't stop staring at each other.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Stucky Bingo 2019 Fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1466254
Comments: 87
Kudos: 426
Collections: Stucky Bingo 2019





	Dodging the Question

🔴

Steve Rogers knows that he's in a recreational league, intellectually. Emotionally, he wants to completely destroy the other team. It's stupid, and when he's not actually in the middle of the game, he can admit that to himself and to others. But while he's playing, all he can focus on is completely ruining his opponents.

This is true no matter what game he's playing. It's true during basketball season, it's true in singles tennis, and it is certainly fucking true when it's time for summer dodgeball.

His team is called the Dinosaurs, because they're all old enough to know better but knowing better doesn't seem to stop Steve from feeling the way he does. It was true when they played the Spartans, it was true when they played the Panthers, and it's definitely true when they're playing the Bullets.

They've played them before this season, even. There are not nearly as many dodgeball teams in the league as there are, for example, basketball or volleyball teams, so most of them face off against each other twice a season, more if they make it to the championship. The last time they played, the Bullets beat the Dinosaurs. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that the Bullets completely spanked the Dinosaurs. It's their only loss this season, and Steve is still furious about it.

Steve's co-captain for the Dinosaurs, and it doesn't help that the team captain for the Bullets, James Barnes, is a tall drink of water who's nuclear hot. The Bullets' team uniform doesn't help either, to be quite honest.

The Dinosaurs are wearing soccer shorts, with knee socks and tennis shoes, and a soccer style jersey. Most of the teams uniforms are very similar in style.

Not the Bullets. The Bullets' shorts can only be described as booty shorts, and last time, Steve wasn't even sure that Barnes was wearing underwear. He swore he could see the outline of his dick in his shorts—not that he was looking. It was just hard not to notice. A gentleman doesn't speculate publicly but in the privacy of his own mind, Steve is pretty certain that Barnes is hung. Their shirts are tighter and made of thinner fabric than the jerseys Steve's team wears. Their white knee socks are rainbow striped, for fuck's sake. Barnes could not look more ready to be dicked down, quite frankly, and Steve wonders why the other team members—Romanoff, Maximoff, and Maximoff—just don't put out the same thotty vibes that Barnes does. It's a gift, or something.

This time, the Dinosaurs are going to beat them, Steve feels confident. Last time they'd played the Bullets, they'd had to borrow Valkyrie from the Asgardians to sub in for Carol, and while Valkyrie is an amazing player, she's also a bit of a wildcard and not much of a team player, and they'd gotten their asses handed to them. Today, it's Steve, Sam, Carol, and Maria, and Steve feels certain that today is their day. From across the gym, Barnes shoots Steve a look. Steve isn't sure if it's flirty, or just challenging, but the look he shoots back is determined, the kind of look one gives to an athletic rival, Steve is certain of it.

"Jesus, Steve," Carol says. "Stop looking at Barnes like his dick is a popsicle."

Maria winces. "Babe, what does that even mean?"

"That Steve wants to suck it? You know I'm not good with dick, sweetheart."

"He's an athletic rival," Steve says loudly. "I was looking at him like you look at a rival."

"No," Sam says thoughtfully, "I don't think so. You don't look at his other teammates like that."

"I know," Steve says as patiently as he can. "It's because he's the captain."

"Uh huh," Maria says. "You don't look at Stark or T'Challa like that, or Hill, for that matter."

"Or me," Carol adds.

"That's because we're co-captains," Steve says. "And friends. Barnes is our deadly enemy."

"It's a rec league," Sam says dryly. "It's supposed to be a friendly rivalry at most."

"I may be somewhat competitive," Steve admits.

Thankfully the referee blows the whistle before anyone can do much more than roll their eyes at Steve.

"Captains, shake hands," the referee, Nick Fury, barks out. Steve and Barnes come to the middle of the court and shake hands. Privately, Steve can admit that Barnes is indeed a most pleasant eyeful. His face is sharp and angular, his dark hair glossy, and his eyes a bright blue that can fade to gray in the right light, not that Steve has been paying attention to what his eyes look like. He also fills out his tight uniform in an aesthetically pleasing way, big pecs and a narrow waist, an ass one can't help but notice in those booty shorts, and long, muscular thighs that taper to equally muscular calves wrapped in ridiculous rainbow socks. Up close, Steve notices that his black uniform shirt is a finely woven mesh fabric. He can see the shadows of Barnes's nipples through it. He makes himself look at his face, instead.

Steve is fully prepared for a handshake that's a dick measuring contest and ready to squeeze back, but instead, Barnes's handshake is firm but not domineering.

"Let's have a clean game today, gentlemen," Fury says.

"We always do," Steve says absently, because it's rec league dodgeball; what exactly are they going to do? No one's going to aim for the head deliberately.

As he's turning away he hears Barnes say something, and he must have heard it wrong, because there's no way he said, "We can get dirty later."

Or so Steve tells himself, because if he thinks about that for too long, he'll have an unfortunate situation in his gym shorts. Hmmmm, maybe he does look at Barnes in a particular way.

There are six rubber balls along a line at the center of the court, and Steve's team is steady against one wall, with the Bullets up against the other. There are a couple of spectators in the bleachers, other teams waiting for their matches, mostly, but Steve's focus narrows to the balls in the center of the court and the people on the other side of the court. The moment stretches out, and Steve's leg muscles tense, ready to take off from the back wall.

Fury blows the whistle.

Steve takes off running, aware of his teammates keeping pace with him, aware of the Bullets rushing to meet them in the center. Contact during the initial rush is forbidden as everyone scrambles to get to the balls. Steve gets his hand on one, and he sees Barnes grab another, and then they’re running back to tag their balls against the walls to "activate" them—hits made with an untapped ball don't count. His team has four of the balls and the Bullets have two. Steve feels his mouth curl into a fierce grin, even though who starts out ahead hardly dictates the way any one game will go, much less the nine-game match.

He tags his ball and turns around, looking for an opponent to throw at. Barnes locks eyes with him, arm drawn back to throw, so Steve moves in fast and flings the ball at him first. Barnes twists out of the way, and returns fire. Steve manages to get into position to catch it, bending down, and Barnes shrugs his shoulders good-naturedly as he exits the court, out until the next game.

The Maximoff siblings get the Bullets' revenge, though, the sister pelting Steve with one ball that Steve barely dodges and then a second from the brother that's too fast to evade. He accepts getting out so early with what grace he can muster and goes to wait by his wall. He rolls out balls back in for his teammates and watches the game, but he can't shake the feeling that he's being watched. He looks up, and just for a moment, his eyes meet Barnes's on the opposite wall. He doesn't want to admit it, but something passes between them that's not just sportsball competitiveness.

He doesn't have time for it right now, though.

The Dinosaurs lose the first game, but they win the next two, and then draw the fourth. There are nine games in a match, and by the eighth, they're tied with the Bullets. If they draw the last game, they'll still be tied for this match going into the championships and Steve absolutely can't have that. Steve's team gets ready for the last game; everyone is tired and sweaty but Steve has enough adrenaline to power through until the end of the match, and he can see determination in his friends. He suddenly swept up in a burst of optimism that they can do this.

The whistle shrills.

The initial rush for the balls is just as fast as the first one, Steve's sure. He sprints for their wall to tag his ball active and whirls around. He happens to spot the fast Maximoff just turning around, and Steve pegs his hip with his ball. It's far away, but his aim is good, and Maximoff's fast but he can't dodge what he doesn't see, so he's out immediately. His sister tries to take revenge, but Steve catches the ball and that's both siblings out in the first few seconds of the game. Barnes and Romanoff aren't giving up, though; she targets Steve, but he dodges; Maximoff rolls her another ball and she gets Sam. He goes to the edge of the court to watch the rest of the game.

Carol and Maria both try to get Barnes, but Barnes somehow dodges the combined power of the Danvers-Rambeau household to launch his ball at Steve. Steve has to duck low to avoid a shot that Romanoff aims right at the center of his chest, and Barnes's ball catches him dead in the temple.

Steve staggers back and falls on his ass as the whistle blows and Fury jogs over to make sure that he hasn't exploded his brain pan or something. Barnes is there a second later, looking absolutely fucking horrified. Steve would laugh if his head didn't hurt so much.

"Oh my god, Steve, I'm so sorry," Barnes says as he drops next to his knees next to Steve.

"It was an accident," Steve says. He turns his aching head to take in Fury. "It wasn't his fault, I was ducked down. He shouldn't be out."

"He's not," Fury says dryly. "I might have one eye, but I was watching."

"You should put me out anyway," Barnes says.

"He should not," Steve says. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah, but now you're out of the game and you shouldn't be," Barnes says. The flourescent lights of the gym are hurting Steve's eyes, but he can see that Barnes's mouth is set in a stubborn line, even as Romanoff comes up behind him and murmurs, "James..." He shoots her a look, but continues watching Steve anxiously.

"I could go back in the game," Steve says, even though his head throbs in time with his pulse and running around will probably not help with that.

"You could not, you absolute dumbass," Sam says. Steve hadn't even noticed him walk up.

Barnes looks at Sam like he's finally seeing a sensible person on this dodgeball court. "Could Wilson sub in for Steve? That way they'll have the same number of people on the court."

"I'll allow it," Fury allows.

Steve protests faintly, more for the form of it than because he really wants to play at this point. Sam sidelines him, and he watches as his team beats the Bullets. He's sure that it will feel much more satisfying when his head doesn't hurt so much.

Steve heaves himself to his feet to shake hands with the opposite team and has a moment where he is legitimately concerned that he might throw up. Carol kind of hovers around his elbows, although as she tells him, "Try not fall over, Rogers—I could catch you, but it would be awkward."

They shake hands, and as Steve peels off to the side to get his bag, he finds that James Barnes is walking beside him.

"How are you feeling?" Barnes says. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm okay," Steve manages. He doesn't think it's the headache that has him feeling suddenly breathless, but it probably isn't helping. "Stop apologizing—it was an accident."

"Yeah, but it was my fault." Barnes gently takes Steve's jaw and tilts his head so he can look at his eyes. Steve would enjoy this more if he didn't suspect it was strictly clinical. "You should see a doctor."

"Yeah," Steve says, with every intention of going home and taking an aspirin. It hurts, but he's pretty sure he can just walk this off. "I'll do that."

"He's not going to that," comes a familiar, annoying voice from Steve's left. "Sam Wilson." Steve sighs as his best friend shakes hands with the man that Steve might as well admit is his crush.

"Bucky Barnes," Barnes says, and that makes Steve's forehead wrinkle. He swears he's heard that somewhere before 

"Bucky?" he says, and Barnes winces next to him.

"Yeah, Steve," he mumbles. "Look, I don't mind running you by the doctor," he says a little louder. "You probably shouldn't drive."

Steve sucks in a deep breath to protest, but Sam turns to him and gives him that stern look that no one of Steve’s acquaintance can say no to, accompanied by, "Does your head hurt?"

"Yeah," Steve admits.

"Then maybe get yourself to the doctor." Sam shrugs. "I can go with you if you'd rather."

Steve feels unfairly put upon. The next match is starting and most of the team has already left. "I'm fine," he tells both Sam and Barnes—Bucky.

"Please," Bucky says. "I feel awful about this, honestly. Let me take you to a doctor."

"You can go with him, or you can go with me," Sam says.

Steve feels like both of them are just set to ruin their own nights, but who is he to stop them when his brain is literally pounding the inside of his skull like it wants to escape and go off to seek its fortune?

"You'll take care of him?" Sam fixes Bucky with the exact same look he just turned on Steve.

"I'll get him to the doctor and home again," Bucky says. "Scout's honor."

Sam exchanges numbers with Bucky, which Steve mostly thinks is unfair since he clearly wanted Bucky's number _first,_ but at least he manages not to say that out loud.

Bucky leans across him to buckle him in the passenger side of his extremely sporty car—Steve isn't sure exactly what it is. He's not much of a car person. But it's small, and black, and looks like it goes very fast.

They go to a doc in the box and spend an hour waiting to be seen, by which time Steve's head has begun to clear a little and isn't hurting nearly as much. They chat to pass the time, and it's surprisingly easy to talk to Bucky. Steve finds out that Bucky is a personal trainer, which given the state of his everything isn't exactly a shock, and Steve shares that he is a copywriter for an advertising firm, but working on novels on the side.

"That doesn't surprise me a bit," Bucky says.

"Really?" Steve shoot him a sidelong look.

"You probably don't remember," Bucky says, "but we were in middle school together. Mrs. Gonzales read one of your stories aloud."

Steve feels like he's been hit in the head all over again. He remembers so clearly the excruciating embarrassment at being singled out that way, coupled with the warm pride of someone appreciating the story that he wrote. It wasn’t exactly the first time he’d thought he might like to be a writer, but it was definitely the first time he’d had an audience.

"Bucky Barnes," he says slowly. "Holy shit."

"You remember me," Bucky says, and he sounds inordinately pleased.

"Yeah, Bucky, of course." Steve still feels shocked; Bucky Barnes, after all this time! And he got _hot._ "I mean, we didn't know each other that well, but you sure made an impression on me."

Bucky ducks his head. Is he blushing? "Yeah, you really—" But Steve never learns what exactly he really, because the nurse calls them back. Steve thinks they might get a bit of a side eye from other people in the waiting room, both of them still in their sweaty uniforms, Bucky’s muscular thighs on display beneath his tiny shorts.

It turns out Steve does not have a concussion, although the doctor reminds him that brains are not meant to be bounced about, which makes Bucky flinch a little bit. Steve just smiles and says he'll be more careful in the future.

Once he's released, they get back in Bucky's car, which Steve is clear enough this time around to note is an Audi, and Steve is little bit regretful that Bucky lets him buckle himself in this time.

"Do you want me to take you back to your car? Bucky says. "Or—I don't know, I know you don't have a concussion but your head can't be feeling that good. I could take you home and drive you to your car tomorrow."

Steve could most likely drive if he really had to, but it turns out he's really enjoying talking to Bucky, and he doesn't want to end this strange little reconnection any sooner that he has to, and he thinks he'd like an excuse to get Bucky's number, a reason to see him again.

"I could probably drive," he says, "but I'd rather not, if you really don't mind. I know I'm kind of taking up a lot of your day today."

The smile Bucky gives him is sweet, almost shy. "I don't mind at all."

They talk as they drive, and it's just as easy as it has been for the last couple of hours. Steve wouldn't call it catching up, exactly, because they hadn't known each other that well as children, but there are a few points of reference that they both remember, a few classmates and teachers that they can update each other on. They'd gone to different high schools, and then different colleges. Bucky had had a brief stint in finance after getting his business degree.

"But I hated it, Steve. I felt so bad because here I was with this fancy degree, and as soon as I put it to use, I felt like I was dying."

Steve can't imagine what that would be like. His copywriting job doesn't exactly set his soul on fire, but he's good at it, and figuring out the marketing hooks is kind of fun, especially when he can come up with angles that he feels good about, as to opposed to ones that make him feel slimy for trying to make people buy things. What he really loves is coming home to his fiction, but he doesn't mind copywriting. But he can tell Bucky about that later, if he's interested. Instead, Steve asks, "So how did you end up as a personal trainer?"

That faint flush warms Bucky's cheekbones. "Well, I started going to the gym a lot while I was miserable at my job. It was a good way to blow off steam, you know? I started talking to one of the personal trainers about how she got into it, and picking up on things, you know, taking classes and learning more… Well anyway, after a few years, we decided that we could start a gym. So I put that business degree to some use after all—I drew up plans and researched the market...anyway, we're co-owners now and it's doing really well."

"That's fantastic," Steve says. "Which gym?"

"Muscle Up," Bucky says, shooting Steve a sidelong look.

Steve has heard of it; Steve has been thinking about going to it. He'd first read an article about it, maybe a couple of years ago—one in the growing trend of queer friendly gyms. Steve had loved the idea of going somewhere where his biggest concern would be whether his ass looked good in his leggings, not whether some roided out gym bro high on testosterone and toxic masculinity was going to freak out if Steve looked at him a little too long.

"I didn't know that was you," Steve says. "Congratulations, man. I read your write up in _Time Out._ "

"Thanks," Bucky says, his smile getting a little wider. "Natasha is the co-owner." Romanoff, he means—Steve’s heard her first name a few times before.

"Oh," Steve says. "Is your dodgeball team the gym dodgeball team?"

"Yeah, kind of," Bucky says. "I mean, the Maximoff twins aren't trainers there or anything, they just go there a lot so we recruited them."

"I'll have to come check it out sometime," Steve says.

"I'd like that," Bucky says. "I could get you a little faster on the court."

"Are you saying I didn't get out of the way fast enough? That's victim blaming."

Bucky sputters, and Steve laughs, and then Bucky pulls up in front of Steve's apartment building.

"This is me," Steve says unnecessarily, since Bucky's GPS has let him know that they've arrived. "Thanks for—all of this. You didn't have to; it really wasn't your fault."

"Maybe I just like spending time with you." Bucky shrugs.

"Tell you what," Steve says. "If you can find a parking place, you can come upstairs with me. The least I could do after all of this is buy you dinner. I might not be up for a restaurant right now, but I can order a mean take out."

Bucky hesitates. Steve thinks—hopes—that he's tempted. "I don't know, Steve, I'm pretty gross." It's true—they both are. They're still wearing their dodgeball uniforms, and that immediate post-exercise sweat has long since dried and cooled to a fairly unappealing layer of dirt and salt.

"So what?" Steve says. "I am too. Tell you what, we can take turns showering, and you can borrow some of my clothes. I'll even wash your booty shorts before I return them to you."

"My what now?" Bucky turns his hazards back off and starts circling the block, which Steve thinks means he's won.

"Your, um, your uniform shorts," Steve says in the tones of the man who has just chickened out at the last minute.

"Yup, that's what I thought you said." Bucky smirks. They find a spot in only about five minutes, mostly by virtue of Bucky spotting someone pulling out and camping out behind with his blinker on until he can three point turn his sporty car into the space.

Steve's apartment is nothing special, just a little one-bedroom, but it feels almost cozy with the two of them in there. Steve doesn't have people over often because the place is kind of small, but Bucky looks good in his home.

Steve pulls out some sweatpants and a t-shirt that he thinks will fit Bucky—they're both tall, and broad through the chest, although Bucky is all around thicker than Steve, much to Steve's delight. He lets Bucky shower first, because that seems like the hospitable thing to do, and leaves him take out menus to peruse while Steve hops in and takes the quickest shower he's ever had. He's all scrubbed up and clean when he comes out, and Bucky's hair is still damp around his shoulders. Steve can't help but feel all kinds of ways at the sight of Bucky wearing his clothes, even though he knows it's just because of convenience and circumstance.

They call in delivery from the Italian place a few blocks over, and Steve fishes out a few beers from his refrigerator.

"Should you be drinking on a head injury?" Bucky uncaps his beer and shoots Steve a look.

"It doesn't even hurt anymore." Steve grins. Really, he's feeling much better, and the doctor said it wasn't a concussion.

Bucky reaches out and fits his fingertips to the corner of Steve's jaw, gently tilting his head. Steve can barely breathe at the sudden speed of his heartbeat. "You're gonna have a bruise," Bucky says quietly. He lets his hand fall away and Steve misses the warmth of his touch before it's even really faded.

"Somehow I think I'll live," Steve says. "It's not the first time I've had a sports-related injury."

"How did you get into dodgeball anyway?" Bucky leans back and takes a swig of his beer.

"I like sports—all kinds. I like to exercise, and I feel like I have too much energy to deal with if I don't, so I played basketball, and tennis, and my friend Carol got me into dodgeball a few years ago. We're both maybe a little competitive and it gives us an excuse to throw things at each other."

"But you're on the same team." Bucky’s smiling, and Steve just wants him to keep smiling.

"We are now," Steve says. "We were big enough jerks opposing each other that Maria thought she better get us on the same team or we were just going to escalate into full on assholery."

Bucky laughs. "You do seem like you get pretty into it."

"I know." Steve puts a hand over his face. "It's embarrassing, but I can't help it."

"I don't know," Bucky says. "It's pretty fun to watch."

The doorbell rings, and Steve is saved from what he's certain is a brilliant blush by buzzing up the delivery person.

Once they have their sandwiches and pasta spread out before them, Steve puts on that baking show he likes as background noise, and the two of them eat and watch companionably. It all feels so easy, and Steve's a little surprised by how much he likes it. Once the food is eaten and the show's over, Bucky stretches. "I should probably get going."

Steve looks at his phone; it's later than he thought. One way or another, he and Bucky spent most of the day together, and Steve finds that he doesn't want it to end.

"You could go," Steve says, not exactly uncertainly, but he does feel a bit like he's got to pick his way here. Just because Bucky owns a queer gym and wears rainbow socks and booty shorts doesn't mean he's looking, and even if he is, it doesn't mean he's interested in _Steve._ "Or you could stay over tonight, and I can make you breakfast in the morning, and you could drive me back to my car."

For a long, hesitant moment, Bucky just looks at Steve, and Steve thinks he's overstepped, squashed this tentative friendship before it had a chance to take root. But then Bucky's face splits into a wide grin, and he leans forward, looking soft and delectable in Steve's shirt. "Yeah, aren't you supposed to be careful sleeping if you have a head injury? Am I supposed to wake you up every hour or something?"

"I think that's a concussion, which, if you recall, I don't have."

"No, I'm pretty sure that's any head injury," Bucky says. His smirk is wider than ever. Steve kind of loves it. "Or maybe it means I'm not supposed to let you fall asleep at all, I'm not a medical professional."

"Yeah?" Steve can feel his own stupid grin, wide enough to cover his whole face. "You going to keep me up all night, Barnes?"

"Sleep is very important to healing." Bucky grabs a handful of Steve's shirt and pulls him closer. "But I'm willing to give it a try."

Steve bridges the short distance between them, getting his hands on Bucky's wide shoulders. His lips are soft, and he tastes like tomato sauce and beer, and he smells like Steve's shampoo, and Steve can't imagine anything better at all.

Well, he can't until some endless moments of kissing later, when Bucky breaks away, just for a moment, and whispers, "What's a guy got to do to get shown where the bedroom is?"

And Steve, well...Steve shows him.

🔴

In the morning, Steve wakes up first and gets to take in the sight of a sleeping Bucky Barnes next to him. They fell asleep curled up around each other, but he rolled away during the night and the blankets have slipped off his shoulder to reveal the curves of his arm and back, the smooth expanse of tan skin. He's relaxed in sleep, his hair dark against the pillowcase and his eyelashes dark against his skin. Steve's heart thumps hard but quietly in his chest.

He could get used to seeing this.

He gets up and starts breakfast, and when Bucky wanders out a little later, wearing Steve's sweatpants and nothing else, Steve has bacon and toast warming in the oven, eggs room temperature and ready to go, and coffee made.

"Mmmmm," Bucky says. He looks sleepy and delectable, and Steve kind of wants to send him right back to the bedroom. "This all for me?"

"Well, I was hoping I'd get to eat some of it." Steve smiles at him and gets a mug from the cabinet. "How do you like your coffee?"

"With stevia if you've got it, just black if you don't."

Steve pours a cup of coffee and hands him the mug. "Tell you what, I'll put stevia on my shopping list."

"Yeah?" Bucky smile is soft and open. "You plan on having me back?"

Steve can't help the smile that crosses his face. He's sure it's too big, too open. "As often as you want to, Buck." He clears his throat. "Tell me how you like your eggs."

"Scrambled's fine," Bucky says, so Steve gets to work, adding a little cheese and a little basil after he cracks the eggs into the hot pan. It's not too long until they're eating, sitting next to each other at Steve's little kitchen bar, one of them at least imagining a future where this happens often.

"How'd you like to see my gym?" Bucky says when they're done. They're standing next to each other, washing the dishes, Steve scrubbing the pans clean and Bucky drying them off.  
  
"I'd love to," Steve says. "Are you open on Sundays?"

"Shorter hours, but yes," Bucky says. He smiles, and it looks shy. "Sunday's usually my off day, but I kinda want to show it off to you."

"In that case…" Steve nudges him with his elbow. "I'd love to see it."

Bucky drives Steve back to his car, then leaves to run home and change—he's still wearing Steve's clothes, which Steve feels unreasonably smug about. They agree to meet in two hours, so Steve drives back to his apartment and throws both of their dodgeball uniforms into the washer along with the rest of his laundry and gets the cycle started before he leaves. He spends a moment thinking dreamily about how Bucky is just as big as Steve thought and wondering how soon he can get his hands on him again. He puts on workout clothes, because he's not sure if Bucky is just showing him around, or might want him to try out some of the machines or whatever.

When he gets to the gym, he sees Bucky's car parked out front. The gym's in a converted warehouse, which he vaguely remembers from the article he read about it. What he hadn't anticipated is how warm and welcoming a place it is. There are machines going, and a tall man with very large biceps that Steve vaguely recognizes from somewhere is cheerfully encouraging a slender, dark-headed man through a set of deadlifts as the dark haired man swears vengeance on his descendants or something.

Romanoff comes out of an office, takes him in, and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, just about. She's wearing leggings and a t-shirt that reads _ass down, chest up, that's the way we pick shit up._

"Rogers," she says, and Steve immediately feels defensive, but then the corner of her mouth curls up just the tiniest amount. "James said you were coming by. Glad you made it."

"Thanks," Steve says. "Is he in?"

Natasha takes a long moment to look him head to toe, and then she says, "Yeah. Follow me."

He does as they thread their way through the gym and finally find Bucky bending over to pick up a weight someone left out, which Steve isn't sure that he could actually pick up at all, much less with the ease that Bucky's doing it.

He's got shorts on and a muscle tank with wide enough armholes that Steve can see every shift of muscle along his sides, and frankly Steve wants to put his mouth all over every part of Bucky's body on offer.

"James," Natasha calls out. "Steve's here to see you."

Bucky sets down the weight with a thunk and turns to take in Steve.

Steve wore his workout clothes just in case, but he thinks now that he should have worn his sluttier clothes. He's just got on shorts and a t-shirt, it's fine for working out, he guesses, but it's not exactly the best. He could look better, and he would, given the chance.

But Bucky looks delighted to see him regardless, and takes him around the place. There's the yoga room, and the 80s dance party room, and then all the other rooms that have the weights and the heavy bags and are basically all the ways that Bucky stays a thick piece of beef at all times and Steve stays a sports dork.

Steve is completely charmed. Bucky shows him around all of it, and Steve oohs and ahs, because, honestly—he's impressed. Bucky and Natatsha have built a really cool thing here, and Steve can tell not only because he liked the look of the gym, but because of the people he can see here on a Sunday—men and women, young and old, skinny and bigger; and that's important, he thinks. They've made it welcoming to everyone.

Bucky shows him around, makes him do some kettlebell swings and push the sled, and then Steve asks, "Will you come back to mine for dinner tonight?"

And Bucky says yes.

🔴

That night is the first of many nights, although they don't know it yet; they part for a short time and then end up together again before the night's through. And that sets a pattern.

The next night, Steve goes over to Bucky's apartment; the night after that they spend apart, but the night after _that,_ Bucky goes to Steve's house.

The week goes by too quickly and then Steve has to return Bucky's laundered uniform.

The week after _that,_ it's the championships, and both of their teams are playing against each other again. The Dinosaurs win, but only by a sliver, and Bucky shit talks Steve relentlessly afterward. Steve loves it.

Months after that, the two of them are talking about moving in; six months later, they're at the animal shelter, looking for a dog to bring home with them.

A year later, they're arguing over whose tuxedo fits the best (Bucky's, in Steve's studied opinion), and then they're arguing over whose vows were most moving (again, Bucky's—he can't say that they weren't when they made Steve cry); an hour after that they're both arguing over whether it's okay to leave the reception yet and go back to the hotel so they can collapse, get something to eat, and then peel each other out of their tuxedos.

Later, as they're drifting off to sleep, tired and sweaty and happy, Steve kisses Bucky's stubbly cheek. "I'm so glad you hit me in the head," he murmurs.

"Hey," Bucky mumbles back, his arms tightening around Steve. "I'd like to think we would have happened without the traumatic brain injury. "

And Steve, falling asleep next to his favorite person in the world—he likes to think so, too.

🔴

**Author's Note:**

> A little peek at my inspiration for Bucky's team uniform can be seen [here!](https://twitter.com/deisderium/status/1206690414356553739)


End file.
